its impropriety.

"Well, anyhow," said I, rallying myself, and speaking with some
lightness of tone, "it is clear that Mrs. Tudor is no lady, for all
you thought her such a pattern-card of gentility."

"And I have not the least doubt," retorted my wife, "that it is
equally clear to Mr. Tudor that you are no gentleman. So, on that
score, the account stands fairly balanced between the two families."

This was a pretty hard hit; and I felt a little "riled up," as the
Yankees say, but I concluded that the uttering of a few sharp
sayings to my wife, under the circumstances, would not prove my
claim to being a gentleman, especially against the facts of the
case; so I cooled down, and walked home rather silently, and in not
the best humour with myself.

On the next morning, I took up a little book from my wife's bureau,
and sat down to look over it while waiting for the breakfast bell.
It was a book of aphorisms, and I opened at once to a page where a
leaf was turned down. A slight dot with a pencil directed my eyes to
a particular line, which read--

"_He who lives in a glass house shouldn't throw stones_."

I am not sure that Mrs. Sunderland turned down that leaf in the
book, and marked the sentiment for my especial benefit; though I
strongly suspected her. At any rate, I deemed it best not to ask the
question.